Bloody Motherfucker
by badficbilly
Summary: Hannibal Niccals has a nasty altercation with his father. Pre-gorillaz. Warning for graphic child abuse and homophobic slurs.


Hannibal awoke to some kind of noise. His groggy brain couldn't make sense of it at first but it was _loud _. Loud and _familiar. _Sent some sort of distant shiver through him, though he couldn't tell why.

He groaned, stirring. Some part of him urged him not go back to sleep. He obliged, blinking.

"_-teach_ _you_ to mouth off to _me_!" He heard a coarse voice shout. There was the sound of something being struck, followed by a cry and a sob.

_"Shut up_ _you_ _mewling_ _faggot_!"

Hannibal was awake now. He stumbled out of bed and tore open the door.

His father was standing in front of the couch, his belt in one hand. The other was gathering something Hannibal soon realized were hands held by the wrists.

He heard another quiet sob, which his father responded to with bringing his belt down on his crying brother. That drew a muffled shriek from the boy.

Hannibal stormed over to them. Murdoc was laid out on the couch, his shirt missing and his trousers down. His yellowing bruises, covering the whole of his exposed skin, were mockingly prominent.

Hannibal felt rage overtake him. "What the bloody _fuck_ do you think you're doing you _sodding_ _ugly mingey old drunken tosser fuck_!"

His father looked up, a sneer on his face. "Oh what are you on about _now _, you useless freeloading tearaway?"

Hannibal stood somewhere between his brother and the man he was forced to call his father. He gave the tall thin man a shove on the shoulder, leaning in until he could taste the bastard's alcohol laced breath.

"_ Two weeks _," Hannibal hissed. "Two _bloody _weeks he couldn't stand, his bruises aint even healed up yet, and you wanna lay into him _again _?" He bared his teeth. "You sodding _bastard." _

He was close enough he could see Murdoc trembling. He had his face buried into the couch, but Hannibal knew he was crying. He couldn't shame him for it. Their father had no bloody soul.

Sebastian scoffed. "Maybe he shoulda thought of that then. Before he started up his _disrespectful tone _" he brought the belt down on the small of Murdoc's back, making him wail and sob into the couch cushion.

Hannibal wrenched Murdoc out of his father's grasp, and shoved the bastard away from the shaking, crying child. "You get the bloody _fuck_ away from _my little brother_, you _bloody_ _maggot_!"

Sebastian snarled, his spit flying into Hannibal's face. "Don't you _dare_ _touch me_ you _sodding_ _little cunt_!"

Behind them, Murdoc didn't move, either too sore or too afraid of the consequences of doing so. Probably a bit of both.

Hannibal reached around and pulled up Murdoc's trousers. "Get up, go to your room." _Bolt the door and don't wait up for me._ Was the unspoken second half of that command.

Murdoc sniffled, but did his best to obey. He reached down to do up his trousers, shooting a terrified look at their father, looming just behind Hannibal.

"Oi, I ain't yet _bloody_ _finished_ with that _bloody little sod_!" Sebastian said, trying to push past Hannibal, who refused to yield.

"Don't you _get up from that couch,_ you _little bastard. _You _hear me? _" He shook the belt at Murdoc, who cowered.

Hannibal grabbed his father's wrist. He turned and snapped, "_ Beat it _, _Faceache _!"

He turned back. The look on his father's face was unholy. Hannibal felt a surge of fear course through him. He didn't know he could still feel _that _scared of his father.

Sebastian growled and put his weight on him. It wasnt much but it still made Hannibal back into the side of the couch and bend slightly backwards. His nostrils filled with the scent of booze and spent fags.

Murdoc buttoned his trousers and slid off to the floor. He half limped half scrambled to their room and hurriedly shut the door behind him. Hannibal heard the dead bolts being locked into place.

Now it was just him and his father. Phantom pains were already settling on his skin. He suddenly felt all too exposed in his vest and pants.

"_Ohhhh_ , you're going to _wish _you ain't never crawled out of yer mum's _minge _, _boy _." His father growled.

Hannibal crushed down the hollow aching fear taking root in his gut. He leaned in. "Couldn'ta been _too bad _, you stuffed yer wandering little manky cock in it _deep enough _to have _me _, didn't ya?"

His father slapped him with the hand still holding the belt. He felt the buckle hit his temple and and made a pained noise.

"Soddin' mingey _slag _." Hannibal hissed.

That earned him a much harder strike. He fell backwards onto the couch.

Hannibal touched the side of his face. The buckle had nicked him across the cheek. He glared up at his father, wiping away the blood with the back of his hand.

He picked out the veins on Sebastian's crooked hand, the grey hairs coming on on his head. He wasn't a frightened little kid anymore. And his father was older and weaker now. That's what he told himself, repeated it over and over in his head.

"What're you gonna do, old man?" He scoffed, his words just shy of a taunt. "Gonna teach me a lesson?"

His father growled. "I will, and I'll make it _bloody_ _stick_ this time!"

Hannibal laughed. He was mad with adrenaline but he didn't care. The situation was so wretched and ludicrous. "I'd like to see you _bloody try _, you _ancient creaking soak _!"

His father grabbed his wrist. A panic of some kind seized him. He struggled, digging his ragged polished nails into his father's wrist. "Let me _go _, you _sodding cunt _!"

It was mostly residual fear. He was strong now, and he could more than win a scrap with him, which he did his best to remind himself.

His father face twisted, baring his yellowed teeth. "Shut the _bloody_ _fuck up_ and _take what's_ _comin to ya, boy,_ or else when I next _have_ _the chance_ I'll bury this belt into that _little bastard's hide_ until his tongue can't _wag again_!"

Hannibal stopped cold. Sebastian's lip curled. "Ah yeah, you think the little blighter's safe cause you're shovin' me around and givin' orders? I'll bloody _finish him _I will."

"_ You sick cunt _." Hannibal snarled.

His father laughed. "At least I ain't an empty-headed useless _faggot _like _you _."

Hannibal wanted to kick him, but images of tiny Murdoc stretched over the couch sobbing and getting beaten until he couldn't move made him go still.

He shouldn't care. It wasn't his problem. It was mad to care really.

But it was just so bloody _cruel _. He was so bloody _small _. And he could only take so much, couldn't he?

"You _bastard _. You'd kill 'im at this rate." He whispered, his voice hoarse as he tried to empty it of emotion. He felt ill.

Sebastian laughed. "Ah he can take it. _You _certainly did."

_I was bigger than him _. Hannibal thought. _I was stronger than him _. He thought.

_It's his own fault for being weak. _He thought. _It's his own fault for being small and weak and bloody _crying _like a little _…

But he remembered crying. Crying with no one to hear him. He remembered being small. And helpless. And how he _begged _for someone, _anyone _to hear.

How he would have done _anything _for someone to hear. Hear, and care at all.

Hannibal swallowed. "You'd lay into 'im anyway. Filthy soddin' cunt."

Sebastian leered down at him, smirking. "Well we'll see, won't we? But I'll whip him good if you don't _behave_ and you bloody _know it." _

Hannibal looked away. Finally, he let go of his father's arm.

"First smart thing you've ever done in your life." His father muttered. "If you call taking one for the little brat _smart _."

It wasn't. It was daft. Mad.

But his stomach pitched at the thought of depositing an unconscious bruised up little boy into bed again, hoping he'd rouse, knowing he'd sob, terrified and bedridden if he did.

His father dragged him upward and pulled him round the couch.

"This is long overdue," Sebastian hissed in his ear.

He shoved Hannibal down over the side of the couch, pulling back his arm. He lifted the back of Hannibal's vest.

He tensed, already feeling what was coming. He gripped the couch with his free hand.

"S._ ..sodding cunt… _" He hissed, holding fast to the tiniest bit of protection and control he had left.

He wasn't expecting the first blow even though he really should have.

Hannibal's body jerked and he gasped, a soft cry twisting out of him. his nails dug into the rough fabric; his crooked teeth dug into his bottom lip.

It hurt just like he remembered - the throb of where the buckle had beaten in and the sting of leather biting into skin. He thought it'd be a bit less overwhelming now that he was much more grown and less soft, but it wasn't at all, leaking into his nerves and taking over far more than he wanted it to.

Some part of the pain was recollections he'd just as soon forget crawling right from his flesh into his brain and he stuffed it down back into some dark recess of his mind.

The second blow followed suit and he flinched again, but this time more subdued. A soft moan he managed to bite back the most of was all that left him. He leaned on the couch for support and braced himself. Couldn't change it, might as well just do his best to take it. He could do that now, he promised himself. He could do that then and he could do better now.

The blows kept coming, and soon had less and less time in between, and it was getting harder and harder to keep himself in check as he was worked over, the pain being ground deeper into his flesh. Soon he was shaking, and it was getting hard to stand, even with the couch arm as support. The real task was keeping his cries down and the tears back, pathetic sniffling threatening to escape if he didn't keep it at bay.

He wouldn't beg. That was long behind him. It meant nothing and would accomplish nothing except delight his father's sadistic streak and bring him low, show weakness, so he wouldn't.

He wouldn't.

His back was on fire, and he felt the ache all the way down into his muscles and bones. Every time a lash fell his body jerked more and more, which spread ache through his joints. He was already growing fatigued and strained. He couldn't bite back the cries anymore, so he continued to smother them with his arm, with fabric.

He finally sunk down to the floor on his knees, burying his face into the arm of the couch, gripping it with his hand. He couldn't think anymore. His brain was dizzy and filled with pain and exhaustion and humiliation and _hate _and fear, _fear _, as if the worst wasn't already underway. All the while his ears were filled with the loud striking of flesh, the click of the buckle and his pathetic strangled cries, and his and his father's labored breathing, his own hitching with every strike.

He felt the tears break free from his eyes and wet the couch fabric. He _sobbed_. Like a whipped sprog. But he couldn't help it. The whole situation was so humiliating and he was in so much _pain_. The pain dug into him with a razor grip.

Finally he felt the blows receding. His father was breathing ragged.

Hannibal swallowed his tears. "W..what's the matter...old man?" He glanced over his shoulder, pressing his hair into the couch arm. He managed to smirk through his glossy, wet eyes and uneven breaths. "Gettin..gettin tired? Not...not as e-easy...workin' over...someone your _own_ _size_...eh…" he laughed, a rasping, bitter, but _smug_ laugh. He didn't care if it earned him more lashes. Fuck that sodding bastard. Fuck him and his cowardice and his weak arm. Fuck him for beating on little kids when he couldn't even thrash anyone bigger _proper_.


End file.
